Not About Our Scars
by galinaredreznikov
Summary: 1998. The war has ended, but healing has just begun. A Snape Lives AU. First fanfic I actually publish, critiques and suggestions are highly appreciated!
1. Prologue

_There was a certain comfort to death._

 _As his memories swiftly slid out of him, engulfing his surroundings in a dim silver glow, he could feel his pain fading away along with them._

 _The sharp sting where Nagini's fangs had ripped at his throat had been replaced with a faint warmth, as blood trickled onto his now soaked robes._

 _Yes, there was fairness to his death._

 _As he felt his breathing become shallower and shallower, he couldn't bring himself to focus on anything but the green eyes before him._

 _Not the hushed, agitated voices around him. Not the fear that should have been swallowing him whole._

 _The room grew increasingly cold, and darker, and then there was peace._


	2. Chapter 1: St Mungo's

**A/N: You guys have no idea how nervous I am about this one! Thank you in advance for taking the time to check this story out and humouring me, an old lady of the fandom (although this is the first time a fanfic of mine gets seen by anyone besides immediate family). Obviously, not J.K. Rowling, therefore I own nothing. Just having fun.**

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Bright sunlight shone through the window, starting yet another uncharacteristically warm London day.

Severus had been transported to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries shortly after the battle, and it had been a few days from his arrival before he finally awoke.

A chirpy little witch in garish Healer robes had then introduced herself as Fenella Braithwaite, and proceeded to nervously blabber her updates.

Potter had maintained his saviour streak, defeating Voldemort once and for all and, of course, making sure the whole wizarding world knew the most intimate details of Severus' life.

He groaned.

"Of course, since Harry Potter has made sure the Ministry knows of your heroism, and no charges will be pressed against you. Personally, I wouldn't be surprised if you were awarded the Order of Merlin!"

Had his throat not been ripped open by an over-sized, vicious snake, Severus would've screamed. Instead, he could only groan louder.

Healer Braithwaite seemed to obviously misinterpret his frustration with eagerness for information.

"As far as your treatment goes, it was lucky Miss Granger happened to carry an antidote to the snake's venom. Had she and the others found you any later, there would've been nothing we could've done."

And what a tragedy that would've been, he mentally commented. Now that speech was painful, even his thoughts had started dripping with sarcasm and rage.

"Even so, you'll have to remain here until we can figure out how to get the wound to heal permanently. We've had a similar case before, but your situation is proving more delicate. So close to the carotid arteries… once again, you were very lucky…"

As the young witch droned on, Severus couldn't help but think he was anything but lucky.

Just as he had been ready to welcome death, that comfort had been snatched away from him, however small a comfort that would have been.

"Oh - Mr. Potter and his friends have visited last night, and Professor McGonagall sent an owl this morning, she seems very concerned. I'm sure you can expect them all soon." Healer Braithwaite informed him, reassuringly.

He allowed himself to doze off, too exhausted to try and argue.

—

Healing was a painful and tedious job.

Three weeks had passed since Severus had regained consciousness. He had fallen into the forced routine of bandage changing, potion drinking and regular check-ups by the Healer-in-Charge. When he wasn't fading in and out of consciousness, he had become the unwilling audience to Healer Braithwaite's trivial chit-chat. Some days, she would share stories of nameless past patients she obviously found amusing, most of whom Severus suspected were made up. Other days, she'd report some silly article she'd read in the Prophet, and launch into the longest list of trivia on the subject. By the end of the first week, Severus had a whole new knowledge of the history of the Holyhead Harpies (the Healer's favourite team), and had heard the story of how she'd met the team's Captain back in 1972 at least twice.

It was when she had informed him that his former colleague and current permanent patient, Gilderoy Lockhart, had heard of his presence at the hospital and was willing to deliver a signed picture to his room that Severus finally snapped. There was only one place Lockhart could stick that autograph, and Severus made sure to clearly imply it in his response.

He was still rolling his eyes at such nonsense, when Healer Braithwaite erupted in a triumphant "Ha!", proud of herself for finally figuring out what could get him to talk back. The following days, he would add the sporadic comment to the witch's rambles, usually to let her know just how much he did not care about Celestina Warbeck's new album, that wizard who had come in with a gnome still firmly biting his nose, or this week's Quidditch match. He didn't really care for anything much, lately, and he started voicing his annoyance more and more frequently.

Words burned in his throat and drained him of way more energy than they should but, he hated to admit, Fenella Braithwaite's pestering had actually helped him regain speech.

On the two occasions when Potter, Granger and Weasley had shown up to pay him a visit, Severus had feigned sleep and left whoever was in charge of the ward to deal with them.

Fooling Minerva had been harder. She had stubbornly waited in the visitor's area for two hours, before finally becoming fed up with his obvious avoidance and pulling up a chair next to his bed, announcing she was perfectly aware he was awake, and that she had no issue waiting for him to get bored with his charade.

She had gotten up, fluffed his pillows, arranged the "get well" cards from students on his night stand, trying to keep herself busy and ignore the weight of apologies unspoken.

"Now, that's more like it." she had muttered, once he had finally opened his eyes.

Severus could not recall ever seeing her looking so tired or worn out.

"You were under no obligation to come, Minerva." he croaked, figuring he would release her of such an imposition. There was absolutely no need for her to show up out of politeness or guilt, especially since it was obvious neither of them were looking forward to this kind of interaction.

"I am perfectly aware, thank you very much" she snapped, more abruptly than he would have expected, even from someone as no-nonsense as Minerva. "It might have escaped your notice, but I have come to think of you as a friend over the years. Although, I admittedly seemed to have forgotten it lately" she sighed heavily, finally allowing her features to soften, leaving Severus to his stunned silence.

"I'm sorry."

Severus nodded, almost imperceptibly, knowing she'd understand his acceptance of her apology. From a logical standpoint, she should not be feeling guilty at all. If anything, her antagonism had helped him maintain his cover until the very end, her approval would have been highly suspicious. He had never blamed her or any of his colleagues for reacting the way he and Albus had set them up to.

"Me too", he breathed. For not trusting her with the truth. For making everyone a pawn for the greater good. It was only one of the many, many things he was sorry for.

"Nonsense, you did what you had to do" a small smile tugged at her lips.

After that first visit, Saturdays had become the day Minerva would come see him. Once apologies had been exchanged, they had fallen back into their banter, exchanging witty remarks. It was a welcome illusion of normalcy, Severus thought.

During the third week of his stay, Severus had slowly been cleared for more and more physical exercise. The wound had been healing nicely, and the risk of it opening again was minimal, provided Severus didn't overdo it.

Seen that overdoing it was the furthest thing from Severus' mind, Healer Braithwaite had easily trusted him with a wheelchair and had been more than happy to escort him to the tearoom on the fifth floor when Minerva would visit (as far as any other visitors were concerned, Severus was still bedridden and very tired).

As she cautiously brought up the subject of his reinstatement as a Hogwarts professor (Severus had categorically refused to assume yet again the role of Headmaster), proposing he would come back and teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, Severus' attention was briefly snatched away by the small commotion at the other side of the tea room. He couldn't have been more glad he and Minerva had found a table mostly hidden from view.

A woman he recognized as Calliope Babble, a reporter for The Daily Prophet, had just entered the room, along with a camera-wielding wizard and a frail-looking witch. The latter would've been completely unremarkable had it not been for the obvious extent of her injury. Partially hidden behind a curtain of light brown hair, purple ripples branded her skin vividly, as if she had been struck by lightning. They extended down to her neck, and Severus had the nasty impression only a small percentage of the markings were currently on display. There was something about her expression that let on more than mere discomfort, as if her mind were to occasionally wander in an entirely different world, her eyes briefly absent before immediately flickering back to life.

Minerva had noticed them, too, as they sat down and the reporter started setting up for the interview. She looked almost as uncomfortable as the subject of the interview currently taking place.

"Poor girl…" she muttered. At Severus' inquisitive look, she added: "She was working at the Ministry when they found out she was saving the names of Muggle-born children that were being erased from the record. One of the most gifted students I've ever taught".

Concentrating on the issue at hand had become that much harder. Thoughts of timetables and restoration were interrupted by bits and pieces of a much more sinister conversation taking place just a few feet from them. Blurry accounts of torture and Obliviation reached their ears through the feeble, airy voice of the young witch, who had just recently been able to leave the Janus Thickey Ward, where the permanent residents were tended to.

At least an half-hour passed before a Healer Braithwaite returned to the room, scolding the reporter for draining Miss Preece's energies, and effectively kicking the news team out of the room.

She gave a small, grateful smile, and absent-mindedly waved at Minerva while making her way back to the elevators. Severus wasn't quite sure she'd fully recognized her former teacher, as her gaze seemed to be unfocused once again.

As much as tried to maintain emotional distance, he could't help but feel partly responsible for all the death and suffering that took place during the Dark Lord's rise to power. While he had accomplished his ultimate goal, he was constantly, painfully aware of how much destruction he had quietly stood by, now more than ever.

He allowed Minerva to escort him back to his room, thankful for her understanding of his silence.

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 **A/N: Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated! Next chapter coming soon!**


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